


respite

by chaotic_dumbass



Category: DnDnD (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Let Them Rest!, Missing Scene, back on my found family bullshit, rated for Zabbas's goshdarn language, the hot springs episode we deserved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:09:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23504047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaotic_dumbass/pseuds/chaotic_dumbass
Summary: noun: respitea short period of rest or relief from something difficult or unpleasant.orFletch watches as his team relaxes. Well. As most of his team relaxes.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	respite

**Author's Note:**

> my quarantine boredom is manifesting in aggressive bouts of 2am inspiration. This fan fiction brought to you by: the soft little way that Fletch says "team", me noticing the bit about the hot tub/spring during my season 2 re-listen, and me being a slut for cool warlock dynamics.

The sun is beginning to set, the air beginning to chill, but no one has made any move to return to the cottage. The hot spring that Nils promised does indeed exist but, much like the rest of the house, is not as nice as anticipated. The surrounding grass is overgrown with weeds and the water is murky from stirred-up silt. The Team doesn’t seem to mind. It feels like they can finally breathe. There aren’t any beacons, or crazy chance gods, or attacking thieves to worry about. Only Plyntharyn’s weird booby-trapped puzzle house, which honesty, after everything else, kind of feels like a breeze. It’s like they’re in the eye of the hurricane. It’s like the calm before the storm. 

Fletch flushes and is grateful that he didn’t voice his thoughts out loud. The amount of gleeful teasing that he would catch from the Team for using storm imagery would be unbearable. It frightens him that they’ve become this collective in his mind. They’re his Team, capital T. He trusts them after all this time, of course, and he cares about them. That’s all well and good, even if he can’t come out and say it like Margarine, or make weird appreciative speeches like Juno. But he’s scared of how ingrained they are in him, of how much they matter. He doesn’t want to be alone again. 

Fletch was alone for a very long time. He had genuinely convinced himself that he preferred it that way. That he far preferred the company of Pete, and the quiet trees, and the whistling wind to that of other people. Fletch allows himself to consider for the first time that he may have been lonely without even knowing it. Sometimes he still feels something missing. Sometimes he’ll catch a whiff of fragrant flowers or a flash of green and something aches in him, a hole that he does not know the shape of. But for the most part, he isn’t lonely anymore. The faint, near constant thrumming anxiety of losing them is worth it. 

It’s worth it if he gets to watch his Team. Flak and Margarine sit cross-legged in the field. Flak is trying to teach Margarine to make music by blowing into the blades of grass and Margarine is enthusiastically failing to match his skill. One particularly pathetic trumpeting noise sends them both into peals of laughter. Fletch is glad to notice the lack of tension and passive aggressiveness that was present days before. 

Pete runs around, chasing after the yellow glow of lightning bugs and rolling in the grass. He’s not doing anything close to guard duty, but Fletch watches him with a fond smile and can’t bring himself to care. 

Juno is crouching on the balls of his feet, head tilted back. Fletch tries to follow his gaze, but he can’t tell if Juno is looking at the steam from the springs, or the stars, or nothing at all. Fletch thinks that the position looks uncomfortable, but Juno seems relaxed. His body carries less of its usual tightness, his face is open and unguarded, and he is absentmindedly tracing patterns and swirls on his knee with one finger. 

Fletch turns his attention to Zabbas. He is sitting with his feet in the hot spring, lightly kicking them back and forth. His hair falls in his face and his expression is not very visible, but Fletch can see his shoulders are scrunched and tense. He has something in his hands. Fletch shifts to get a better look and he spots the odd goat hoof. Zabbas turns it over and over in his hands. His brow is furrowed and he looks as upset as Fletch has ever seen him. 

Juno has noticed this too. He moves as if to stand and go to Zabbas, and Fletch knows that is an absolutely terrible idea. Fletch is not the best with words or people or giving out advice, but anything would be better than sending Juno in to handle this. For some inane reason, Juno really, really wants Zabbas to like him. This has the result of ensuring that all of the interactions between Juno and Zabbas are characterized by eagerness that borders on desperation on Juno’s end, and palpable disgust and annoyance from Zabbas. If there is a surefire way to prevent Zabbas from opening up at all, it is to send Juno in to talk to him. Fletch shoots Juno a look that says as much and holds out his hand to stop Juno from rising completely from his position on the grass. 

Juno’s face fills with hurt so immediately that Fletch feels a sharp stab of guilt in his chest. He remembers with perfect clarity the barbed reprimands and eventually physical blows that had characterized his first few days with the other ranger. It’s different now, the previous distance between Juno and the rest of the team has long since dissipated, and any teasing remarks on Juno’s eccentricities never go much further than affectionate ribbing. That doesn’t mean that Juno is always confident in his place among the team and this rejection probably isn’t helping. Fletch almost wants to say something to Juno. He pauses, wavers, pulled in two directions, before settling on the slightly less complicated path and going to sit by Zabbas. 

He approaches the edge of the spring slowly, his hands in front of him in a placating gesture. He realizes with a dash of amusement that he is approaching Zabbas the way he would a wild animal he was trying not to spook off. 

“Hey,” he says in what he hopes is a casual and nonchalant tone. He sits at the edge of the spring a few feet away from Zabbas. He lowers his feet into the boiling water slowly and with a fair amount of wincing. 

“Hey,” Zabbas responds, questioning and a bit hostile. 

“You did good today. Or well. You did well today.” Fletch thinks it would be best to start over. “Good job with the clothes. The servants clothes. From the feywild. You kept them all this time, which was smart. Cause we needed them today. So..nice one.” Actually maybe it would be best if he fell into the hot spring and drowned. 

It is silent for a few excruciating seconds until Zabbas takes pity on him. 

“Thanks,” he says, the corners of his lips pulled, almost smiling. “I sort of hold on to everything we find, but yeah, thanks”. 

Okay. Good start. Fletch exhales a small puff of air and asks, “So, uh, what’s up with that hoof thing?” 

This time the stretching horrible silence goes on for so long that Fletch genuinely considers tagging out with Juno. 

“I honestly have no idea.” Zabbas’s jaw is tight and he closes his hands around the goat hoof so that Fletch can’t see it anymore. He stops swinging his feet through the water. “It’s really fucking weird”. 

“You took it out today,” Fletch says, remembering how Zabbas’s eyes had flashed with recognition and something close to fear. 

“Yeah,” Zabbas mutters. He isn’t looking at Fletch. He’s staring at his cupped hands. “I thought I could feel it pulling me.” 

“Has that happened before?” Fletch can’t keep the concern out of his voice. “The pulling thing?” 

Zabbas flinches, reading Fletch’s worry. “Uh. Yeah. When I first got the hoof, with the spiders. It was pulling then. It was like it wanted to be closer to the spiders. It wasn’t strong enough that I had to move or anything, but it was definitely noticeable.” 

“Are you worried about it?” What Fletch wants to ask is _Are you scared?_ He wants to tell this kid _it’s okay for you to be scared of this_. He’s not an idiot, though. He’s pushing his luck as it is. 

“I mean, I know it’s from the pact. And I can control the new magic really well. It’s just the parts that I don’t know that are freaky. And I don’t know most of it.” Zabbas’s hands are unfurling, revealing the goat’s hoof again. “And..everything that it pulled to...those were all the things that Juno’s stuff repelled. Like all of his weird power of justice, power of healing, power of milk shit. And like, Juno said it himself. Our gods probably wouldn’t be friends.” 

“Well..yeah probably they wouldn’t be friends,” Fletch coincides, “but so what? Who says Juno’s god is so great. And anyway, you aren’t your god and Juno isn’t his god. You’re Zabbas and Juno, and you guys are on the same team.” 

Zabbas seems like he’s about to respond, when another shrill noise from Margarine’s blade of grass cuts through the air, quickly followed by Flak’s frustrated groans. It’s like Fletch can see Zabbas shut down, his face closing off and his posture stiffening again. Fletch could kill them, really he could. Zabbas stuffs his goat hoof in his pocket and moves to stand. Desperate, Fletch grabs his wrist. 

“We’re here for you, okay. You aren’t doing it alone. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.” 

Zabbas breaths a puff of air through his nose and smiles. He bumps his shoulder against Fletch’s, affectionate and playful. Fletch grins, warmth spreading through his chest as Zabbas stands to leave. Then Zabbas pushes him into the water. Fletch sputters and flails, but he’s drowned out by hysterical laughter in four-part harmony, and he finds that he doesn’t really mind at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> I think I spend more time going through old episodes trying to figure out how to spell names than writing the actual fic. Hope you enjoyed! If you see a typo drag my ass in the comments.


End file.
